‘An accident. Hit by a van.’

‘Oh!’ I laugh again.

‘It happened on this road, just a few yards from here.’

‘But, how? I mean, Jack’s unmissable. He’s a massive, hairy bear.’

An almighty din startles me and I gasp, my heart now plunged into the pit of my stomach. My phone is ringing. It’s on the breakfast bar, dancing to the vibration. John and I both stare at the device like an alien has invaded, the single word ‘Mum’ lighting up the screen. It rings and rings and rings, and then it stops. I release a sigh, as does John, who looks as if he’s about to say something. Then a message alert interrupts him.

‘Sorry, John,’ I say, snatching my phone.

The message contains a photo of a wicker laundry basket lined with beige gingham cotton.

Isn’t this lovely? Shall I get it for your new flat? Mum x

My flat isn’t new. My mum hasn’t been to visit yet because she lives in Liverpool and I only recently moved in. My suitcases aren’t even fully unpacked yet: the Ikea drawers we purchased last weekend are still flat-packed. Jack, however, has been living here for three years. He has the laundry sorted. Had the laundry sorted. Fucking hell, must I resort to past tense already? Over a wicker basket?

I type back.

Thanks Mum but we’ve got one. Xx

She replies straight away.

It’s only 8.99 you know.

Caught in a freakish crossover of past and present, I ignore my mum’s persistence and notice that another message looms for me, unread, received at 11.33 this morning. It’s from Jack.

Pizza at Dough-Re-Mi before the comedy? X

Yes, I want to reply. Yeah, definitely. But Jack’s phone is on the bookshelf in the hall and he has no way of coming home to get it because he’s been—

‘Hit by a van?’ I ask John. ‘Seriously?’

‘Shortly after lunchtime.’

‘Why has nobody told me until now?’ Why does my voice sound so normal?

‘We didn’t know about you.’

And yet I know about John. About how he grew up on a farm in Lancashire and moved to London when he was twenty-two. He married his wife, Trish, and they settled in Berkshire, had three sons, Jack in the middle. I know that he’s retired now, but he used to own a company that made stationery. He sold it for a good amount, but not as good as he’d hoped for. I know that he supports Manchester United, although, unlike Jack, he’s never been to a game, and that he’s a huge Barry Manilow fan – like, borderline obsessed.

But John – he didn’t know about me. Seems Trish didn’t – well, doesn’t – either.